After the Inspector's Visit
A Homage to Lupus Pictures

Part I

A New Proctor: Points of View

This is the second half of 'A Homage to Lupus Pictures', a tribute to the series of seven CP videos with which these Czech filmmakers have revolutionized the art of erotic spanking. Since the release of the last of the series, "The Inspection", Lupus Pictures have released or have in post-production "The Cheap Trick", "The Orphan", "The Warlock's Revenge", "The Settlement" and "Stalin" but no promise of another peek into the Headmaster's Study. Although two of these "The Warlock's Revenge" and "Stalin" have me eagerly awaiting their release, I pine for another appearance of our beloved friend, The Headmaster. Until the day of his return all I can do is fondly offer another riff on the Lupus theme.

If you lack the real thing click here to go to the Lupus Pictures website and order your own copy of any of the films from "The Headmaster's Study"

Part D. Point of View - The Headmaster

The Headmaster is the familiar and well-loved figure from the seven Headmaster's Study films by Rigid East/Lupus Pictures: Note for Absence, Catechism, The Anarchy, The Globe, Unbridled Youth, The Peacock and lastly that masterpiece, the Inspection. To the Headmaster falls the unenviable, unending task as the ultimate disciplinarian at St. Thomas Higher School for Girls. He frequently worries that on the one hand he is too harsh to the girls while on the other hand he is letting standards slip. In the most recent Lupus Pictures 'Headmaster's Study' release "The Inspection", Herr Boehm, the Provincial Inspector of Girls Schools has soundly berated him for his softness, threatening to shut down his school. Today he received the letter that in one month there will be a second inspection. He must rectify the deficiencies identified by the inspector, or else. His thoughts run along these lines.

Monologue #1 What to Do? It is obvious that I must make Inspector Boehm happy. When he was here he was clear that he thought I was using the cane far too little and far too lightly. What does he mean by lack of discipline in the faculty. And "obedience of your faculty"? Does he want me to beat them? I suspect that he wants me to come down really hard on them so that they will come down really hard on the girls. Well, what in Hades, why not. I must talk with the Board of Regents about this. The staff is all female and they must remain single while teachers here. Most of them are in their twenties. They almost all have gone to convent schools because there are so few Higher Schools for Girls. After all, St. Thomas is the oldest Higher School for Girls in this part of the Dual Monarchy and we are scarcely forty years old. And we know how harsh the discipline is in those convent schools. I have never caned a grown woman before. I wonder how they would accept it. If it was me I would say, stuff it. But then I am the Headmaster and one of the few men in this school at all. I do, after all, cane the girls.

I know he doesn't like me disciplining the girls in my office. He thinks it is too friendly and "comfy". Well I like a "comfy" study. I guess he wants to see a dungeon. Well I can certainly give him a dungeon. Although St. Thomas was established in 1862 by my uncle we occupy the old Monastery of St. Thomas which was founded in the 12th century. This building dates to the late 1500's. Hmmmh! There is that old storeroom in the basement. It used to store the beer and wine when this was a monastery. It could be done. It certainly is a cold and chilling place. No windows, stone floors, walls and ceiling. Have to put electric lights in there. And a electrical call bell. That is not a problem.

Now what is this about the mothers! "lack of maternal cooperation" and "parental support for your program"? What does he want me to do, cane the mothers and the daughters together! I need to see what the Board thinks about this. After all, over half of the Board are the fathers of girls who attend here. I wonder what they would think when I propose caning their wives! Hrrmmpphh.

If I spend all my time caning girls, teachers and mothers when will I get my work done. Beside, caning is a necessary evil that I really don't enjoy. I consider it undignified. It is beneath my station. Yes, every once in a while, to show who is ultimately in charge. But not to do every day, morning and night like a chore. I wonder about Fraulein Alexandra Muehlstein. She seems severe enough. Her Fifth Form girls seem to be in terror of her. She wears such severe old fashioned dresses. Never see her ever in a white blouse and skirt like the other teachers and always in black. Black! And such high collars. I wonder if she has any tits. Pfffsh. Well, she might just work as my Disciplinarian. Of course I will have to get the Board of Regents to approve an additional teaching position which will in the interim require raising outside money. What if she rejects my offer?

Monologue #2 My New Proctor It looks as if she likes the idea of becoming Proctor. This is the first time I have seen her actually smile in ten years. She feels that the Inspector's letter is actually more positive than I think. What does she think about caning the teachers? Too mild! My God, what is in this woman's mind. Chastising more "sensitive parts" than the behind. What did they teach those girls at the convent school? She certainly runs her class with a strict hand.

She certainly is not reluctant to strip in front of a man. I would have thought that she would sooner die than exposure herself to me but here she is disrobing without hesitation. She almost seems to take a pleasure in it, thrusting out her pathetically small tits at me. Asking my assistance in disrobing! Waving her naked ass at me! Her undergarments are shockingly brief and she shaves her body hair! I would have never thought these things of her. I am surprised.

She takes her punishment unbelievable well. Those nuns seem to have taught her something. I find her strap strange. This strap is very heavy and takes a lot of effort to swing. It seems to have little effect on her, hardly a change in her voice although it marks her buttocks and posterior thighs very well. Her behind quickly becomes red and then very dark red to purple. But she doesn't seem to be experiencing much pain. I never trust anything but my faithful canes.

Even my favorite cane, properly delivered seems to make little impression on her. She almost seems to thrust her ass at it, seeking it out during the first fifteen strokes. Because her butt has already been tenderized by the strapping, each of the first fifteen has a devastating effect on her skin causing a large welt that quickly turns purple. The second fifteen I really lay into her as hard as any I have even given. Any one of them would reduce my most hardened sixth formers to screaming. But although she begins to gasp and cry she is still not screaming. Each stroke draws blood even though I try to space them out as widely as I can. I spread the first fifteen out between her waist to the top of her stockings. But the welts were so large that there is virtually no unmarked skin between the first fifteen strokes to place the second fifteen strokes. The blood is starting to drip down her buttocks and thighs. I have to stop and wipe off the cane three times to keep from spattering droplets of blood over my study. I am puzzled by her lack of vocal response to my application of the cane to her backside. In this respect she reacted like Fraulein Smeralova, my little anarchist did to her birching or Eulalie Cimciburkova, the quiet sixth former did to her tawsing and caning. But Alexandra Muehlstein is the most extreme, she never yelled or screamed despite my ripping her backside to shreds.

One other thing puzzled me. Her caning resulted in marked swelling of her genitals and a copious outpouring of secretions from her vagina. Being a married man I am acquainted with the fact that women, during intercourse, become moist long before we men add our seminal secretions to theirs. I have noted that caning commonly causes some genital swelling in our girls and occasionally a little secretion is observed. I have discussed this with other headmasters. All of us scrupulously avoid ever striking the girls between the legs and we puzzled how their genitals can become red and swollen without the cane coming anywhere near. We have come to the conclusion that shock waves are generated by the cane and are propagated through the tissues of the bottom and thereby damage the labia. But I have never seen swelling and secretion like this. Prior to taking my photographs, I tidied up her behind. After thoroughly wiping the blood off her buttocks and the thick secretions from her labia, I noticed by her vagina was still producing secretions. I made sure to take an especially close photograph of this to show to Dr. Schertel and Father Weber. I will see if they understand or can explain.

Monologue #3 One Should Never Stop Learning I have been caning girls for twenty years but until today I have never caned a grown woman. Furthermore, I have never applied an implement of chastisement anywhere on a female except her buttocks and the posterior of her thighs. So today expanded my education. Fraulein Muehlstein insisted that I put the switch to her breasts and loins. I have to admit I was shocked by this. It seems that she felt required to demonstrate her absolute commitment to the new program. I thought that the punishment she had already endured should have been more than sufficient. She said that the good Sisters of St. Joseph had taught her this punishment. So she had me restrain her with her battered backside to the end of the bench and her hands tied together over her head.

First came a dozen blows to her tiny breasts which were tautly stretched across her chest. She said that since her breasts were so small I should concentrate my blows on her nipples. This I did, aided by my years of skill developed with the cane. But to my amazement, no sooner had I started to work with the switch than I became sexually aroused. Now I am a man of sufficient years that I do experience a stiffening of my member as casually as a fourteen year old boy. Even the sight of my wife putting on or taking off her nightgown, alas, no longer brings my little soldier to attention. I was amazed, and more than a little embarrassed. Just as with the caning, she took her breast beating with equanimity. No screams or cries, just a bit of grunting. The switch bit into her nipples quite fiercely, causing them to bleed. I felt sorrow for her but my sorrow was tainted by my erection which was now quite tense. I hope that the distended front of my slacks did not reveal to her my animal reaction to her pain.

Then she insisted that I punish her loins with a bundle of four switches tied together. This I did laying the blows across the uppermost portions of her thighs and mons veneris. The effect on the mons was quite visible as she had removed her pubic hair. She explained that the nuns had taught her to do so. If my sexual arousal was noticeable before, it became more extreme as the blows were applied to her unmentionables. By the time I was done I was forced to go behind the screen, ostensibly to get another was cloth but in reality to adjust the position of my distended penis which had entangled itself in the flap of my underwear. Quite painful. As I was cleaning the blood off her frontside, Fraulein Muehlstein was quite insistent that I most thoroughly cleanse the secretions from the upper part of her genital cleft. I did so to her great relief. Lastly, my new Proctor insisted that I strongly pinch her nipples. This I did following her instructions on the construction of a crude set of forceps. This maneuver finally elicited screams from her which seemed to provide closure to the strangest education in female perverseness I have ever encountered.

Monologue #4 The Secretary The screams issuing from my new Proctor brought the school's new secretary running into the room. This brought together one of the longest serving staff members of the school and the newest staff member. It also brought together the one who helped me the most with the one who was my biggest problem. My secretary clutched in her hands another set of execrably typed memoranda to the Board of Regents. Fraulein Muehlstein, still clad only in her shoes and stockings, proposed to take Cunegunda in hand. I was more than willing to hand her over, sit back, and watch. Fraulein Huehlstein ordered her to strip to her shift and stockings and undergo a typical convent school punishment. Much to my amazement, Cunegunda swiftly complied, disrobing more quickly than I ever imagined a corseted lady could ever undress. Then my secretary bent over, held her ankles, and received a score of blows from the Proctoress' strap.

Cunegunda, my secretary had obviously experienced this sort of discipline before. I do not know whether I was more impressed with the force with which the leather was applied or the fortitude with which Cunegunda endured it. As I said earlier, I consider the heavy strap to be the implement of the butcher compared to the elegance and precision of the cane. It requires a strong arm to apply it and Fraulein Muehlstein appears to have a strong arm. I also acquired a new appreciation of what her fifth formers must have endured during the first week of the term. Cunegunda's flesh quivered each time a blow was struck. About half of the times she was actually thrust forward by the force of the blows each applied to a different spot. And Cunegunda had a lot of flesh to cover. I would call her "zaftig" but she had a broad butt and heavy thighs. And Fraulein Muehlstein certainly used every square centimeter of it. Then, that phase of the punishment for defective typing was over.

Fraulein Muehlstein then decreed the hapless secretary was next due for a score of strokes from the cane. Off came Cunegunda's chemise revealing a truly impressive set of breasts. Fraulein Muehlstein made sure that the mammary glands hung over the far side of the caning bench when she strapped Cunegunda in. I am forced to admit that Inspector Boehm was correct that caning should be done with the subject in the nude when the subject is a late adolescent girl or a mature woman. The female form draped over the caning bench is truly elegant.

Although Cunegunda had kept her composure fairly well during the strapping she lost it entirely during the caning. I do not know where Alexandra learned the art of caning (for an art it truly is) for teachers cannot cane at St. Thomas (only I can). But learn it she has. The art of caning requires a combination of three things. First, patience, for the blows must not come too quickly despite one's internal urgings. Second, accuracy, knowing how to aim the blows so that a maximum of skin is chastised. Third is adjustment of force, so that the disciplinary effect is maximized without excessive damage to the underlying tissues. Fraulein Muehlstein understood these things. And she was ambidextrous! She applied the blows in groups of five. After each five she changed sides. By about the fifth stroke Cunegunda was reduced to a sobbing, slobbering, shaking lump of aspic. By ten, when each of the first five were turning purple, Cunegunda was screaming. By the twentieth blow, Cunegunda was insensible and twenty beautifully parallel lines of purple welts marched down her backside from waist to the tops of her white stockings. And yet only the faintest droplets of blood oozed out from the bruises. When it was over I felt like leaping to my feet, applauding, and shouting "Bravo".

But Fraulein Muehlstein was not finished. As she lavaged my secretary's backside with a damp cloth, Cunegunda began to revive. The new Proctor spoke into Cunegunda's ear "one thing yet remains". Cunagunda moaned, "No, not my breasts, please not my breasts". Alexandra spoke, clearly and louder "Yes, yes". Fraulein Muehlstein unfastened the straps that restrained my secretary at the forearms, waist and knees and stood her up. She then turned my secretary around and bade her kneel in front of the caning bench. I gazed upon Cunegunda's breasts, now fully thrust out and my erection became even harder. My new Proctor used the bits of rope to secure Cunegunda's ankles to the rear legs of the caning bench. She tied Cunegunda's wrists together and by securing the rope to the far side of the caning bench raised my secretary's arms over her head, elevating and making more prominent her ample breasts. My erection was on the verge of becoming painful and I became aware of a swelling of my testicles that I had not experienced in a decade or more. Then Fraulein Muehlstein walked over to the wall and selected the lightest and most flexible of the four canes on the rack. Alexandra had positioned Cunegunda for a breast whipping.

What followed must have been very painful for my secretary but the way that Fraulein Muehlstein whipped Cunegunda's breasts was very arousing for me. Much to my surprise she did not target the nipples. Rather she started at the top where the swell of the bosom first rose from the chest and marched the strokes down to the areolae. Cunegunda screamed with every blow. To be honest, I don't know why Alexandra stopped before Cunegunda's nipples but I have to admit that my eyes were glazed by the time she finished. As an expert caner I had to admire the way that Fraulein Muehlstein landed the cane evenly across both breasts, a most difficult feat. The site of the breasts with twelve identical welts slowly turning from red to purple on each contrasting with the profuse light brown hair of her armpits and her large dark brown areolae and now grossly swollen nipples aroused me beyond my previous experience.

Even before the two young women got dressed I had left my study with only one thought in mind. As quickly as I could I walked home. My ballocks were swollen and throbbing. As I entered the doorway of my home I tossed my coat, hat and gloves to the maid and ran to my wife. After hugging her and passionately kissing her I grasped her about the waist and took her into my arms and carried her up the stairs to our bedroom. She weakly protested "but what about supper". "To Hell with supper" was my only verbal response. What followed is beyond my descriptive powers. For the next couple of days my wife was more pleasant than I recall for some period of time.

It is possible that things at St. Thomas may work out.

Part E. Point of View - The New Proctor

The new Proctor is familiar to us from the bit parts this tall, slim, dark red haired lady played in Detention House (the assistant disciplinarian) and Fairy Tale (the Queen) and as Miss Muehlstein in The Inspection. She is just the sort of individual that will send shivers up the backside of any adolescent girl missing her latest homework and with an itchy crotch. She is a graduate of the convent school of the Sisters of St. Joseph across the river from St. Thomas. The Headmaster has identified her as part of his plan to save St. Thomas School. She will be the firm hand that supplies much of the additional needed discipline saving his time for the severe cases. He is about to get more than he bargained for. Her thoughts run along somewhat different lines than his.

Monologue #1 My Interview This was the week I had been waiting for. In so many ways. For so many years.

Last week there was the disruption of the Inspector's visit. I was there in the study when he arrived. With five girls who were in need of a sound caning. I watched the interaction between the two. The inspector is an ass. But the girls eventually got their caning and afterwards I gave each of the five a score with the strap right in front of the rest of the girls. The Headmaster is a competent man with a cane, despite what the Inspector said and three of the girls, Adele, Ludmilla, and Maria had truly well purpled butts. But I made sure that each of the five was bleeding when I was finished with them. Then they had to stand there, bent over, in front of the class until their buttocks stopped bleeding. I dislike sending a girl home with blood soaked drawers. Adele took almost two hours for the blood to cease oozing out. The girls in the class were horror struck and I doubt that any of them will slacken their efforts before June.

I wondered what the aftermath of the Inspector's visit would be. The response came sooner than I would have expected. When I received a memo Monday informing me to report to the Headmaster's office I first wondered what I had done wrong. I always feel guilty when summoned and I get that funny thrill in my chest that I associate with impending punishment. I have generally thought that the Headmaster was lax in his treatment of the teachers and I often fantasize about being chastised by him. Of course in the ten years I have been a teacher at St. Thomas I know of no teacher being given more than a moderate verbal dressing down. This is quite a change from my years at the convent school across the river or the two years at the State Female Teachers Training Institute.

At the SFTTI all of us 19 and 20 year old girls had a disciplinary inspection every Friday night. SFTTI prided itself on being ultramodern and ultra-rigorous. For instance we had showers rather than baths. Our uniforms were ultra modern, white blouses and navy blue skirts. Even our underwear was ultra-modern, camisoles rather than chemises and light weight corsets with suspenders for our hose rather than old fashioned garters. We even had light-weight linen drawers with elastic waistbands rather than the old fashioned voluminous split crotch drawstring bloomers. But every Friday night, forget about the lingerie. It was get into your nightgown, robe and slippers and get down to the shower room where it all came off for the DI. Our demerit cards were inspected. Offenders had their hands bound to the overhead water pipes and we got five with the thin dog whip for every demerit. Buttocks, breasts, even your shaved pussy, nothing was off limits. Every stroke drew blood. In my two years at the SFTTI I was disciplined about a dozen times. But I never fainted. The Sisters of St. Joseph had trained me well. I passed out more times than I could count while under their care.

Yes, when as I walked to the Headmaster's study. I was thinking about chastisements. As I read the Inspector's letter I was surprised. I thought it would be much harsher. I do believe that he was not trying to close us down. Just make us much stricter. I was startled out of my wits when he asked me to become his disciplinarian. I could not believe what he was asking of me, of what he was giving me. Never in my life was I ever given anything like this. There was joy in my heart when he had me go and get my strap and what my girls call my beating book. I had to consciously restrain myself to keep from skipping down the hall. I think that my twelve girls were scared when they saw me walk into the classroom with a big smile on my face. They probably thought I was going to beat the stuffing out of them. And the five of them with butts that had not yet healed looked particularly alarmed when I grabbed my disciplinary book and strap. I could hear audible sighs of relief as I headed for the door.

Monologue #2 My Testing Little did the Headmaster know when he directed me to strip and be beaten that he was fulfilling one of my dreams. How many times did I lay awake in bed at night and fantasize about him spanking me with a huge strap. I would pull my night dress up above my waist and hold my buttocks with my hands and imagine the blows caressing my butt cheeks. Then I would hold my sex and imagine him strapping me onto the bench and making stripes on my backside with his canes. Finally when I could bear it no more my finger would slip into my slit and start to work on my clitoris. Release would finally come to me about the time I was imagining him whipping my breasts. And then every Saturday I would have to confess to Fr. Weber about my self abuse.

Now I was indeed standing naked from the waist down in front of him. I was grateful when he told me to grasp my ankles because my hands were shaking very badly. Each blow of the strap transported me. I felt like singing the disciplinary litany of "Thank you Headmaster for that spank. Please give me number ten". I must admit that he applied the strap firmly although not as hard as Sister Ester. I was really being erotically aroused. From between my legs I looked back at him. I could see the front of his trousers starting to bulge. He liked it too!

Finally, the moment I was waiting for. He asked me to remove my camisole. I stood before him in my exultant nakedness. As I bent over the caning bench I made sure that my nipples were just on the forward edge. As the caning proceeded I moved my body back and forth on the bench which rubbed my nipples on the edge. He was a competent but not great caner. However I was transported into ecstasy. I must have obtained my release at least twice during the caning as the blows rippled though the flesh of my perineum into my genitals. The waves of sharp pain alternated with the background of slowly intensifying burning pain until I could do nothing but bask in a resounding wave of stimulation. Then it stopped. The caning was over. He started cleaning off my backside and remarked about the secretions coming out of my vagina. Men are so stupid. They cannot comprehend that women also have sexual arousal and that when aroused our genitals become wet. He didn't realize that I get aroused by being whipped. He started to very attentively clean my vagina with his washcloth. That was when I had my third release of the day. My whole body was still shaking as he unfastened the straps and walked me over to the wall and made me kneel down like a naughty little girl. The touch of his hand on my arm burned me like fire.

As I recovered my wits I explained to him that I was not fully disciplined yet. I needed to undergo a third chastisement, a beating with switches of my breasts and loins. I did not think that he was ready yet to do what I really wanted, whip my genitals directly. That will come later if for no other reason than St. Thomas School lacks a proper gynecologic whipping table. Even so I had pushed him to his limits. His hands were shaking badly as he strapped my lower legs onto the front of the caning bench. They were shaking just as badly as he tied my hands and secured them over my head. I think he stared at my shaven armpits as long as he stared at my tiny breasts. Finally he began. Oh the way the pain jumped out from my nipples as he struck them with the switch. It was like electrical shocks jolting though my body. As he began to whip the fronts of my thighs and mons veneris with the switches I could not contain myself and started to moan and rub my bleeding buttocks against the front edge of the caning bench. But this time I could not attain release no matter how hard I tried. After he was finished I cried and begged him to pinch my breasts. Finally I got him to construct a pincher from a couple of sticks and to apply it to my nipples. Finally I got release and I screamed myself hoarse. My fourth release of the day! Never in my life had I ever experienced anything like this. I almost fainted from the shock.

Monologue #3 Beating a Stupid Cow When the time came to discipline Cunegunda the realization came to me with a shock that I had never chastised a mature woman. In my last year at the convent school I caned any number of the younger girls. And as a teacher at St. Thomas hundreds of girls had felt the bite of my strap. But never someone who was not a student. Was there a tremor in my voice when I told the inept secretary to disrobe. If there was she certainly didn't react to my tremor but to the authority she was used to obeying when she was a student at the convent school. Once she bent over and held her ankles and I lifted up the tail of her chemise it was just another ass to beat, albeit a little broader than most. And being ambidextrous I excel at beating ass.

Where I was just a little bit scared was when it came to the caning. At St. Thomas Higher School for Girls, caning was reserved for the Headmaster. I had witnessed a goodly number of canings in this room. And half an hour ago I was bound to this very bench and given thirty of the best. So I just carried on as if I had been doing it for all my life even though the last caning I administered was twelve years ago when I was eighteen and I was caning a thirteen year old. It felt very strange ordering her to remove her chemise and bend over the bench. I confess my hands were shaking a little when I fastened the straps around her limbs and waist. Since her butt was big I went for the heaviest cane. After all I was only giving her a score.

It helped that Cunegunda took her caning like a cow. By five strokes she was crying and losing the count. I decided not to play game but just to muster through the twenty I had promised her. She had no sense of maintaining her control and it was just like beating an animal. That helped me with my control since there was no struggle between the will of the submissive and the dominant chastiser. For once I really enjoyed punishing someone. I half expected her to moo rather than to scream to God for mercy and to her mother for help.

I knew Cunegunda had gone to the convent school and I know that those nuns believe in whipping titties. And the nicer the breasts the more they get beat. When she took her chemise off I thought I could see a few faint white lines across the middle of her breasts, scars from a previous severe titty whipping. I'll bet that is what she is really scared of, having her breasts beaten. Well if that is what she fears, that is what I will give her. After her caning she was too exhausted to resist much as I made her kneel in front of the caning bench and tied her feet to the legs and her waist to the front. I tied her hands together and then raised them above her head and tied the rope to the far end of the bench. This succeeded in thrusting her breasts up and forward. I must admit it was a striking site. The Headmaster's erection must be getting really painful. He has had it for at least an hour. Soon I will have to show him how women can offer men release without intercourse. The nuns taught us well.

I chose the lightest cane for Cunegunda's breasts. I wanted the strokes to be perfectly controlled. And if you cane the breasts too forcefully you can cause indentions that will last forever. I just want bruises that will ensure she dress modestly for a month, not permanent disfigurement. I enjoyed caning her breasts even more than caning her ass. She howled like an animal and jiggled wildly. But I was steady with the cane. I also switched sides after the first six so that the tail of the cane worked both breasts evenly. Her skin reacted beautifully first turning red, then forming a welt with the classical double line, and finally turning purple. I worked her as slowly as I could, taking almost a minute between strokes. This was really having an effect upon the poor Headmaster who bolted for home the minute I finished my twelfth and final blow. I suspect he will roundly roger his wife tonight. He must have a real load on his ballocks.

I toyed with Cunegunda after I unfastened her. I made her go, naked, out into the cold hall and retype the memo to the faculty while I got dressed. Although it was better than the last it still had four mistakes. It took her three more attempts to get it right. I stood over her with the cane threatening to give her breasts another dozen if she didn't get it perfect. I suspect she was freezing cold. It did her good. I enjoyed myself. That night as I lay in my bed and toyed with my sex I dreamed of her breasts, of whipping them with a dog whip. And I dreamed of the Headmaster's organ. And of giving him release. It took me over two hours to obtain my release, the longest I have ever endured.

Part F. Point of View - The Secretary

The Headmaster's new secretary is also a graduate of the St. Joseph's Convent School albeit a more recent one. She has been trained to take dictation and as a typist. However she finds that life outside of the cloister is considerably more complicated than in the convent. She is of medium height with light brown hair and full breasts and buttocks. Using your imagination insert into this scenario either of the two full breasted young ladies from Wild Party II. If your imagination fails go back and view Wild Party II again.

Monologue #1 Mounting Terror

It was the best possible job I could have wished for. But as the first two weeks unfolded, it was one of the hardest periods of my life.

The convent school that I was educated in was long on discipline and adequate in technical training. It was the traditional job that the nuns have done so well, train girls for practical careers. It was the 'high falutin' sophisticated 'gymnasium' education that the 'Higher Schools for Girls' were trying to copy from the Hochsuchle. I must confess that I am not the brightest of pupils. Therefore I was happy, so ever proud to be hired by an institution that I could never aspire to attend. I guess that it must have been mostly the efforts of the Sisters of St. Joseph that got me a job. Because for six months after I left school nobody wanted to hire me. The idea of a secretary taking shorthand dictation and then transcribing it using a typewriter was just too radical and modern for most any business in a provincial backwater town like ours. But the St. Thomas Higher School for Girls prided itself in being the most modern type of school in the Dual Monarchy. A job as a secretary at the girl's school at the other end of town thrilled me.

But as the first week went on I got more and more scared. First, the school had never had a secretary before so there was no place to put me. Finally they found a desk for me and my typewriter and simply put me in the hallway outside the Headmaster's study. Then, at first, there was nothing for me to do. In the middle of the week Herr Boehm, the Provincial Inspector of Girls Schools came for a visit. He did not even acknowledge my presence but just brushed passed me into the Headmaster's studies. Just as the Headmaster was disciplining five fifth form girls. He even ignored Fraulein Muehlstein, the formidable fifth form senior teacher.

Today, Monday, the start of my second week at work, I was inundated with dictation and memoranda. This was all in response to my Headmaster receiving the official letter from the Provincial Inspector about the recent Inspection of our school. Apparently the Inspection did not go well. And changes will have to be made if all of us are to retain our positions. This scared me since it was only recently that I had gotten my job and it was all too early to lose it. Therefore, I got very shaky. And the shakier I got the worse my typing became. Soon, it was all I could do to hit the keys of my typewriter.

As my typing got worse I got more scared. I knew I was not doing a good job. All I could think about was the way the Sisters of St. Joseph used to discipline us when we failed to do what we should. I have always had a big bottom and therefore I have not feared the cane in the way that most girls did. I could absorb the blows as they came. That doesn't mean that I enjoyed canings. I hate them. But I could survive them. What I dreaded was having my breasts beaten. Because my breasts grew before most of the other girls in my class, the sisters seem to single me out for having my boobies beaten. It seemed like every time my class was summoned down to the basement for chastisement, I was the one who had the switch or the cane put to my tits. As the afternoon of my second week on the job went on, I became obsessed that the bad job I was doing at my work would result in my breasts being whipped. The longer the afternoon went, the worse my terrors became. As the light faded I could almost feel the blows descending on my bosom.

Monologue #2 The Dark Lady Strikes I remembered her from my school days. Even back then we called her the "Dark Lady". She was the girl from the upper section that was responsible for disciplining those of us in the lower school. I feared her from my youngest years. Somehow I knew that I would face her again. My first day at work when I passed Fraulein Muehlstein in the hall my bowels roiled with fear. She was here. And dressed in black. As always. With her hair done up in a tight bun. She passed me and not a glimmer of remembrance seemed to cross her face. But I remembered her.

Then on Monday when she returned to the Headmaster's study with her strap and a book that had to be her discipline log I knew something was going to happen. And I knew that something bad was going to happen to me. At first when I heard the familiar slap of strap hitting flesh I was puzzled. I hadn't noticed any girls going into the study. Then I heard that clear strong voice of hers penetrating right though the door, thanking and counting. I knew she was being beaten yet I was as afraid as if it were me baring my ass and waiting for the blows. The deserted school was so quiet I could even hear the swish of the cane and the thunk as it bit into flesh. That was no girl being caned in there, that was an adult woman, a woman who taught at this school and if she could be beaten, I could be beaten. My work was terrible. If they offered me the choice between a caning and being fired it wasn't really a choice. If St. Thomas fired me no one else would ever hire me. It would be a caning for sure. But please, please, not my breasts. As I listened, I could hear a soft swish, quieter than the whistling swish of the cane. What could that be. I could hear her, the Dark Lady moaning in pain. Then silence.

Then came the scream. I jumped up and grabbed my papers. Then the second scream. I couldn't help myself. I ran into the Headmaster's study. Then I saw her standing there, strapped to the front of the table with her hands tied above and in back of her head, chest and loins thrust out. Naked but for her dark stockings and shoes. With a thin trickle of blood coming down from each of her bruised and hugely swollen nipples. I stared at her ecstatic face in horror. And I knew I was next. And I knew that my breasts would, in the end, be beaten. I don't actually remembered much of what followed. I don't even remember whether when my breasts were whipped I was standing or sitting or lying down. All I remember is the sharp intense searing pain followed by the slow measured burning of each of the twelve strokes that she delivered so slowly that time seems to have halted. And the smile she had on her face. I seem to remember screaming time and time again. Or maybe that was only in the dreams that followed.

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